Parallel Thoughts
by bigred08
Summary: [RayNeela] Musings on what they may be thinking


**Parallel Thoughts**

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. (If they were, why would I be writing this here, and not on the show?)

Spoiler warning: Not really anything beyond the end of season 12. I wrote this having seen season 12 and the preview for Bloodline. It's semi-accurate, but that's not really the point.

Summary: RayNeela Musings of what they may be thinking.

A/N: This is my first fanfic. Ever. Constructive criticism would be nice. Have at it…

* * *

Ray

For several months after Michael died, if you asked her how she was, she would answer 'fine' and give you a very non-convincing smile. Now if you ask her, she says, 'I'm doing well, how about yourself?' or 'good, and you?' and her face lights up. I'm glad she smiles again, regardless of who makes her do it. I'm happy for her and Gates, I really am. Do I wish it was me? Sure. But, it's not and that's fine. When I ask her how she is, she gives me the same bright face she gives everyone else. She truly does look happy, until you look in her eyes. She's not happy. She knows full well that I can tell, but won't verbalize it. She'll give me a 'good, how are you?' and a smile, and I'll answer her, but we both know it's all formality, and she's lying. She's not good, she's just gotten better at acting, playing pretend. I'm not asking her to explain it. I understand that she doesn't want to. Or at least she doesn't want to explain it to me. I just want her to admit it. Admit that she's not ok.

I know she can't ever really be mine. It just wouldn't work. It'd be fun, sure, but ultimately, I need her as my friend and truthfully, I think she needs me as her friend too. And that's all I'm asking, friends. She makes me happy just as we are. _She makes me happy_. Could we be more? Perhaps, but that's beside the point. I don't need it to be more. I just need her as she is. The problem though, is that I don't want anyone else to have her. And that's totally unfair for her—'you don't have to be mine, but you can't be anyone else's.' When it comes down to it, though, she _is_ mine. She'll always be mine. And we both know it.

Neela

I am happy with Gates. I really am. I am happy with him like I was happy with Michael. What more could I ask for, one might ask? It's a simple answer. I want to be happy with Gates like I am happy with Ray. Even after marrying Michael, there was a need, an emptiness, some piece missing, that my husband was supposed to fulfill. He never did; and Gates will never be able to either, no matter how much I want him to. I attributed Michael's inability to his absence, but that is not correct. Michael wouldn't ever be able to fill that need because, I now see, it was filled by Ray. And that's also why I have to qualify the happiness in my relationship with Gates with 'like I was with Michael." Ultimately, Gates is nothing, and this relationship will go nowhere. While he is a decent person, and a good friend, there is nothing I can get from him that I can't get elsewhere. Elsewhere specifically, being Ray. The way Ray makes me feel is an absolute. There is no need for qualification. He makes me happy. When he looks at me, I can tell. He knows. I can pretend all I want, but he knows, though I still can't admit it.

It wouldn't make sense for me to be his. But that's not really the problem. The problem is that I already _am _his. And he is mine. Equally though, I am Michael's, and Michael is mine. There is no doubt in my mind that the way Michael is mine and the way Ray is mine _is_ different, but how? Well, Michael is dead. It's the way they are the same that's complicated. I stood in front of my friends and promised Michael that I would always be his and he promised to always be mine. This ring is as concrete as that promise can be. Though, what about "'til death do us part"? Does that mean Michael isn't mine anymore? That I'm not his? I don't want that. I know I don't want that. Then there's Ray. We've never promised anything to each other but an effort to be tidy. But somewhere between the first time he called me 'Roomie' and me taking his shirt, it happened. And I can't deny that. Nor do I want to. Maybe no one else knows. Maybe there is no concrete evidence. But I'll forever be his and he'll forever be mine. And we both know it.


End file.
